He was wearing chartreuse satin disco pants, and a mink jacket, and peeking through it I could see no shirt at all, only his bare chest, and his diamond peace sign shimmering at me.

“Merry Christmas!” were the first words he said to me, and then he kissed me with unbridled passion.

“Wow!” I whispered, looking him over carefully. He hadn't changed a bit in three months. It could have been Peter, but I knew it was Paul, back from wherever he had been to have his wires polished up, and his chips replaced. God only knew what they did now. But I was thrilled to see him. “How have you been?” I suddenly realized how much I had missed him. More than I would ever have admitted to Peter, or even to myself.

“I've been bored as hell, thanks a lot. I spent three months with my head off. I didn't even know he was going away again. They just told me this morning. I came as soon as they called.”

“I think he decided on short notice,” I whispered. And I was happier to see him than I knew I should be. The last three months with Peter had been wonderful … but Paul brought with him something magical, and very different. A kind of madness blessed by outrageous spirits and kissed by elves. He was wearing yellow alligator cowboy boots, and when he took the mink jacket off, I could see he had on a tiny black see-through undershirt, covered in rhinestones. He looked very festive, and happy to see me.

He hugged both of the kids, and Charlotte rolled her eyes at him, and said, “Now what? Are you on one of your crazy kicks again, Peter?” But she grinned at him. She liked it when he got a little crazy. And Sam giggled at the outfit, as Paul poured himself half a glass of bourbon. This time he knew where I kept it, and took it out of the cupboard with a grin, and a wink at the kids.

“Are you staying with us again?” Sam inquired, looking amused. The last time “Peter” had looked like that, he had stayed in our guest room for two weeks. He thought the yellow cowboy boots were a little silly. But Peter was his buddy, and had been for months, in khaki pants, or chartreuse satin. They were growing accustomed to what they thought were his mood swings and his fluctuating taste in clothing. And as though to confirm that to me, Charlotte whispered to me when he walked out of the kitchen with Sam.

“Mom, he needs Prozac. One minute he's all quiet and serious and wants to play Scrabble with Sam, and the next minute he walks in, acting like Mick Jagger, and dressed like Prince.”

“I know, darling, he's under a lot of pressure at work. People express it differently. I think dressing like that relieves some of the stress for him.”

“I'm not sure which way I like him better. I've kind of gotten used to him looking normal. This is a little embarrassing. Last time I thought it was cool, now I think it looks silly.” She was growing up, and I smiled at her.

“He'll get over it again in a couple of weeks, Char. I promise.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged and took the salad out to the table. Paul was already sitting there with Sam, and regaled all of us with outrageous stories of meetings he had disrupted with whoopee cushions and live frogs over the years. It was a side of him that Sam particularly loved, and I found myself staring at him. Like Charlotte, I had gotten used to Peter, and now seeing Paul again was a little confusing. I wasn't sure I was up to another two weeks of intense ecstasy and the quadruple flip. In my heart of hearts, I had come to love Peter's quieter ways better. And in his own way, he was twice as sexy as Paul. Paul took a lot of energy, and he consumed enough bourbon for the entire state of Nebraska. I didn't even have champagne in the house for him. He asked for dessert, but settled for half a bottle of Yquem that was still left over from the last time.

He taught Sam how to play poker that night, and played liar's dice with Charlotte after that, and after they had both beaten him, they went to bed, still amused at how he was behaving. He had told them that he decided not to go to California. He claimed he was staying with us because he had lent his apartment to friends from London. Paul was very considerate about explaining things to the kids, so they wouldn't know the truth about him, or that Peter was gone.

But once the kids were in bed, I was honest with him, and told him what I was thinking.

“Paul, I'm not sure you should stay here. Things have gotten serious with Peter in the last few months. I don't think he'd like it.” More importantly, I didn't think I would. This was just too confusing for me.

“This was his idea, Steph. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't sent me. I got the call from his office.” That surprised me. He hadn't seemed all that pleased about what happened when he sent the Klone in September. “He expects us to be together while he's away.”

“Why? I can manage fine on my own for two weeks.” It made me seem like a nymphomaniac or something, as though I had to have sex fourteen times a day and hang off the chandelier while doing it, just because Peter was in California. And it wasn't that simple for me. Besides, I had plenty to do with the kids, getting ready for the holidays, I had started looking for a job, and I had lots of parties to go to. I tried to explain that to Paul, as we sat in the living room and he opened another bottle of bourbon.

“He probably doesn't want you going out alone at this time of year, Steph. He must have had a reason for calling me, and having me come to see you.”

“Maybe I should ask him,” I said, wondering how best to handle an awkward situation like this one.

“I wouldn't do that. I think he likes knowing I'm here, but I'm not sure he wants to hear about it.” I had figured that much out the last time. “Kind of like an imaginary friend, if you know what I mean.” But I knew better.

“Paul, there is nothing imaginary about you. My back hurt for two months after you left.” The quadruple wasn't as simple as it looked, no matter how skilled he was at it. Peter was right. It was dangerous. And he'd sent me to his chiropractor, which had finally helped me. He hadn't asked how I'd hurt my back, but I was sure he knew without asking.

“Tell me about it. They had to replace all the wires in my neck after last time,” Paul said, and then he smiled at me so winningly I felt something in me start to melt, in spite of my good intentions, and my resistance to him. “But it was worth it. Come on, Steph … for old times’ sake … just two little weeks. It's Christmas. If I go back now, I'll feel like a failure.”

“It might be the best thing for both of us. What's the point of this? I'm in love with him, and you know it. I don't want to spoil it.”

“You can't. I'm his Klone, for heaven's sake. I'm him, and he's me.”

“Oh God, not that again,” I said, feeling overwhelmed by his persona. “I can't go through this again.”

“Didn't you feel closer to him last time after I left?” he said, looking hurt that I doubted his good intentions.

“How did you know that?” The truth was, I had. But he had no way of knowing. Or did he?

“Steph, it's meant to. I think that's why he sent me. Maybe I show you a side of him he doesn't know how to show you himself.” I glanced at the chartreuse pants and the rhinestone-encrusted T-shirt as he said it, but I found his theory a little hard to swallow. There was so much to Peter as it was, if he had a side like this, I wasn't sure he needed to show it to me. This was just a crazy experiment someone had dreamed up, or Peter had, and it had gotten out of hand right from the beginning. It was an insane fantasy to live out, and I was convinced I didn't need to. It was his fantasy not mine, and I was no longer sure it was even Peter's. “Look, let me spend the night,” he persisted in spite of all my rationalizations. “No double flip, no triple, no quadruple. We'll just lie in bed and talk, like good friends, old times. And I'll leave in the morning, I promise.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to the shop. To take my head off.” Poor thing. It was a rotten way to spend Christmas. We deserved a little fun at least before he went back in the shop again. After all, he had been there since September, waiting for Peter to leave for California.

“All right. But just tonight. And no funny stuff. You can wear a pair of his pajamas.”

“Do I have to? Christ, they're so ugly. They're probably beige or something.” He winced at the prospect, as though their oatmeal blandness would cause him genuine pain. He would have felt differently if they'd been chartreuse satin.

“They're navy, with red trim. You'll love them.”

“I doubt it. But for you, I'll wear them.” I was only sorry I had finally disposed of my very last flannel nightgown. They were gone forever. I had already decided to sleep in my bathrobe, just to be safe. I didn't want to provoke Paul into anything we'd both regret later.

We went to bed eventually, and used the bathroom separately. He came out wearing the navy blue pajamas, looking as though he might get sick from wearing them, and I came out wearing my most chaste nightgown, and the terry-cloth bathrobe he had bought me at ‘21.’ It was a far cry from the last time I'd seen him. And this time, there were no candles. Peter was right, I had decided, they were a fire hazard.

“Not even one little one?” Paul looked crushed when I told him. He loved candlelight, and so did I now.

“No. I'm turning the light off,” I warned him, and got into bed next to him, but as soon as he put an arm around me, he felt just like Peter. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn't, but it was hard to remember in the dark.

“Why are you so uptight tonight?” he asked unhappily, as I lay tensely next to him. “He must be making you frigid or something. No wonder he had them send me.”